


every little thing he does is magic

by Catznetsov



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Porn With Plot, arguably - Freeform, the plot is Petey's sexcapades
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 10:57:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19249798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catznetsov/pseuds/Catznetsov
Summary: “Sounds like you did good, bud. I’m sure she liked it,” Brock says, doing the last button and smoothing his pajama top over his stomach with his palms, and Petey cuts eyes at him, laughing.“You like everything I do,” he says. That’s not even right because he hasn’t done everything to Brock, but  Brock guesses it’s fair, because he would if Petey did.for the sinbin prompt, 'all I can think about is how badly Brock wants to get dicked down'





	every little thing he does is magic

**Author's Note:**

> for the sinbin prompt, 'all I can think about is how badly Brock wants to get dicked down'

Updates on the state of Elias’ virginity drop Monday and Friday evenings, travel permitting. Brock scrubs his face and brushes his hair while Petey perches in the middle of his hotel bed, already in his pajamas, telling him about the latest.

It started easy; everything does, when it’s Petey. He looks at Brock from the corners of his eyes when Brock says anything like that, because Brock guesses other people don’t tell him so, but people let Petey distract them with all his complaining. He always knows how to do things really, he just needs to deny his way through the first couple minutes. 

The first time he kissed someone at a bar he told Brock he was awful. Was it always so wet or had his mouth just gone dry, was it rude to touch their face or rude he’d kept his hands pressed flat to the tops of his thighs? 

Brock had said it must’ve been fine and Petey said well you don’t _know_. So Brock said maybe you just have to practice; Petey said well maybe I won’t, the way he does, like a cat threatening to knock over a delicate thing. Brock said he was going to get better if he wanted to, and then because Elias was looking unsure, like he might give the whole idea of hooking up another smack and smash it, he’d said Elias would just have to _prove_ he was learning. Offered an opportunity to be better than everyone at anything, Elias glowed.

So he’s kept trying to hook up, and kept coming back after, telling Brock how it all went, what they did, and once that’s done Petey trades him whatever he and his date did. A quick kiss for a kiss, a French kiss when he learns that, and Brock promises him it’s not too wet at all. He goes out with college women mostly, older than him, a few boys, who all know what they like for fun and don’t mind that he doesn’t yet. One week he kisses Brock soft and pinches his chest, slipping delicate hands under his pajama shirt and skimming the swell of his pectorals before flicking one nipple just for emphasis. Brock laughs until his cheeks ache, and feels Petey’s smile triumphant against his mouth.

Petey smiles at him like that the first time he fingers one of his dates, rubs a little circle over Brock’s hipbone through his sweats while telling him about it. 

They have a homestand, then a couple days off, and Petey fucks one of his friends. With the break between nights in their hotel room he doesn’t tell Brock about it for a while. When he does he sprawls across the bed instead of perching like usual, so his fringe falls back from his eyes and he can track Brock across the room as Brock putters around putting on their things away and pulling on his pajamas.

“Sounds like you did good, bud. I’m sure she liked it,” Brock says, doing the last button and smoothing his pajama top over his stomach with his palms, and Petey cuts eyes at him, laughing.

“You like everything I do,” he says. That’s not even right because he hasn’t done everything to Brock, butBrock guesses it’s fair, because he would if Petey did.

“I can’t say that’s not true,” Brock admits. “Can’t say that.” He checks in the mirror one last time. His face feels itchy like he’s forgotten some step of his routine, but he looks fine. Over his reflection’s shoulder, Petey’s face is tipped up, watching. He turns around to head back to the beds, and when Petey points to the one he’s claimed, that’s where Brock sits, lifting one of Petey’s delicately bony feet out of the way. 

Petey hooks a hand around his elbow, reels him in. All Brock sees on the way down is how his mouth is already parted to take Brock’s lower lip in before Brock can do much of anything. He bites softly, so Brock just has to open up for him, let him play with Brock’s mouth like that for a long time. Petey likes trying deeper kisses and then quick ones as soon as he thinks Brock’s gotten used to it, because of course he would. 

Brock lets him and just tries to remember to hold his own weight up off Petey’s chest. He can feel the sharp curves of Petey’s hipbones under him when he doesn’t. Petey’s leg is still sprawled out along Brock’s side; the other one Brock was holding, and Petey lazily pushes his foot back down against Brock’s thighs, making Brock shuffle properly up onto the bed between his legs. It’s harder to support himself like that, and as he’s trying Petey’s hands find his hipsto flip them both over.

Petey catches him, lays him back with a hand pillowing Brock’s head until it meets the mattress, and then that hand seems to take a long time to slip down, around to his cheek. Brock can feel it’s just the pads of three delicate fingers, not even near his mouth, but he lets it fall open for Petey anyway, and Elias dazzles at him. His fringe is falling in his face, the light from the lamp toying with all his fierce and thoughtful angles. Brock doesn’t mean to let his eyes drift closed in anticipation of the coming kiss. 

Petey doesn’t keep his weight up. That’s fine, Brock can take it, except Elias catches his upper bodyweight with his arms, that hand snaking back up to frame Brock’s head and the other close at his shoulder, leaving the whole weight of his hips on Brock’s belly, his thighs heavy between Brock’s. No question he can feel how Brock’s aching, hot through thin pajamas, while Brock can feel Elias just getting stiff against his hip.

The kiss comes to an easy end and Brock sighs with it. Elias leaves an inch between their mouths, foreheads resting together. “Like that?” he says, whispery soft like his voice gets when he hasn’t spoken for a long time. This hasn’t been long at all for him, so maybe he’s just soft for Brock. When Brock turns his face into the pillow Petey’s pointy nose bumps his and then pokes warm into his cheek.

“You haven’t even done everything yet,” Brock says, half into the pillow. Petey breathes in quick against his cheek like he’s about to giggle. But then he doesn’t, pressing a kiss there instead, and more on down, lipping the precipice of Brock’s jaw and then dropping down, tongue testing his heartbeat. He draws his hands down too as he pulls back, settles them on Brock’s hips as he crouches over him like something hungry.

Sometimes Brock wonders if Elias means to scare him off when he looks all sharp like this. It isn’t happening, but the only question is how reckless Brock will have been once he gives this boy everything.

“That a dare?” Petey asks, and Brock doesn’t even remember what he said now but he says, “Sure, sure,” anyway. Petey pets his hips approvingly, a little circle of his fingertips before he hooks them under the waistband of Brock’s pajamas. Brock lifts obligingly but Petey only pulls them halfway down his thighs and seems to like it like that, so Brock can’t spread as wide for him as he otherwise would.

“Yeah, yeah,” Petey says when he tries a complaining sound, and he doesn’t even have to say the rest of it. 

He’d gotten lube out of his bag while they were talking earlier, must have, Brock realizes, when he reaches over to the table between their beds. He'd been watching Brock’s back, standing at the mirror, and thinking about touching Brock like this. 

Brock lifts his hips again, and gasps like it’s a surprise when Elias sweeps fine fingers in from his sides to wrap around the tops of his thighs, shifting him how Petey wants him. Petey leaves him like that for a minute, snaps the cap and rubs his fingertips together, thoughtful, until they're slick. He’s looking at Brock like an opportunity. Above Brock in the low light, he glows.

He wraps one hand around Brock’s dick, apparently just to give him something warm. The sudden reality of it and especially the reminder of the callus at the outer edge of his palm make Brock buckle before he recovers and presses up into it. As he does Elias traces the first fingers of his other hand around the head and then down, over the soft skin between Brock's thighs. The slick Elias had warmed for him only makes it clear how wet Brock already is for him. Petey pauses over him, the flat of a fingertip reassuring warmth over Brock's hole, and then his hand twists and he presses in. 

Brock looks at Petey’s chest and breathes with him through it; he looks at Petey’s pink mouth and forgets how to. Petey likes playing with him, light and lighter circles with that finger before sliding in as soon as he think’s Brock’s gotten used to it, and then shifting quick, two fingers pressing, curling just inside then thrusting deeper and curling back again to a steady rhythm. Brock grabs his own dick, just to cover and press a little with his palm for reassurance, fingertips kneading at his balls the way he likes. It’s easy to close his eyes into it: everything’s easy, when it's for Petey. All he needs to feel are Petey’s hands, slim and strong, and all he needs to know is the pace of Petey’s breath, coming rougher above him.

Elias adds a third finger with more slick when he’s ready, breath hitching, pressing closer over Brock's chest before he rocks back. This time he holds his weight up. For the first time in a while Brock thinks to wonder if Petey knows which of them he’s really waiting on. Brock’s never needed too much to relax for this, which Petey would say is no shock but Petey doesn’t know. Petey’s learning still: Brock practically has a duty to be his best learning opportunity. 

He arches just enough to feel Petey’s chest against him as they breathe, finds the bony points of Petey’s shoulders, fluttering over them to cup the back of his neck, elegant length that feels like it was made just to fit right with Brock’s blocky palms. Petey bends into him like he thinks so too, lets Brock wraps arms around and press himself close to him, pulling him down. 

“You can, please,” he says as politely as possible, so Petey snorts a laugh into his hair, mussing it across his cheek, and then nuzzles it back out of the way to press a kiss there, mouth half open, breath trailing warm on his skin until he finds Brock’s lips again. He only pulls back to snag thecondom off the nightstand.

“Oh my god, did you tear the corner of the packet already or what,” Brock says. “You did.”

“Maybe,” Petey says, biting his own lip in concentration as he finally undoes his fly to let Brock see his dick, pretty pink like the rest of him, and work the condom down. “Maybe I just tear it cause I’m nervous.” He gives himself a single tug, closing his eyes, then pours out more lube with a wet sound that makes his nose wrinkle and Brock throw his head back laughing at him. 

Petey gives him a moment, then when Brock’s still giggling just rolls his eyes and lines them up anyway, tugging Brock’s pajamas a little further down to shift Brock’s thighs until he’s perfect again according to whatevervision Petey’s following. His dick slides hot against the tender insides of Brock’s thighs and then behind his balls, where Brock is hoping he can get Petey’s clever hands sometime soon, then against Brock’s hole. Brock doesn’t stop giggling but he does dig his fingers into Petey’s shoulder, and Petey pushes in. 

He immediately pulls back, which is apparently Petey’s idea of taking it easy. Brock scrabbles at Petey’s back and doesn’t clutch him anywhere else, pointedly relaxing his internal muscles even when they want to spasm, want to keep Petey in him. When Petey presses back, like he’s trying to pace himself, Brock breathes and tips his pelvis as much as he can to make it easy for him, feels Petey slide deeper and lets himself clench around him. 

He might as well’ve punched Petey by the half-sound he makes, sweetly high and tight behind his teeth, as if he’s more than a little delicately annoyed at being made to make a sound. He pulls back anyway, and thrusts back in; his hands are planted on either side of Brock, his bright shape blocking out everything above and around him, and then when Brock arches his back to reach for him Petey slides deeper and his arms go out from under him, falling over Brock, just catching himself on his forearms.

His hands pat across the pillows until he finds Brock, tracing his hair, his neck. His fingertips hover achingly warm over Brock’s cheeks as he barely pressed, enough to tip Brock's face how he wants him and kiss him again. His lower lip is plush, hot and slick where he must have been biting it, and the only sentences Brock can think start with _his, his, his._

Elias fucks into him again and again, and kisses him like if they’re both breathless Brock won’t notice the little sounds Petey makes. Brock can feel it through Petey’s ribs, filling his own lungs. Again, and Brock would try to spread his legs further somehow to take him deeper except that Petey had been happy with him just like this, so he twines his arms around Petey’s neck and tries to kiss the bridge of his nose, his cheekbone, his forehead where the fall of his hair is growing deeper gold with sweat. He lets his muscles soften, lets Petey move him completely, however he wants to. 

Petey slides his hands down over him, sweeping warm fingerprint trails around the swell of his chest and digging softly into his sides. His belly is there when Brock rubs up into him, Brock’s dick between them. Brock gasps under Petey’s mouth and Petey catches him, presses him back, pets sweetly over his hips. He slicks his fingers through the precome Brock must be leaking and strokes him in time with the slow roll of his hips, so when Brock rocks into his hand and back he fucks himself on Petey’s dick.

Petey’s sharp hips stutter when he comes, his breath hitching too. Brock kisses him through it,clutching at him inside and catching his breath with him through the pause. Petey’s breath rasps again, panting, and Brock tries to sink back into the mattress to let him pull away, but Petey only tips his head to drag Brock’s lip between his teeth. He bites deliberately, testing, like he hasn’t been toying with Brock’s mouth all night, like he wants Brock to know he could start all over again. Brock’s his as long as Petey wants to play with him. He lets himself come for Petey, easy as anything.

When his eyes drift open, there’s a flutter of gold close over him, the pink of Petey’s mouth Brock could look at forever, and then Petey’s eyes somewhat cross-eyed this close. Petey’s petting his hair.

“Hey,” Brock says, low. His voice sounds fucked, pretty thoroughly, so he probably wasn’t quiet.

“Hey Bee,” Petey says. He’s still watching Brock like a lab experiment, but doesn’t add anything else.

“Petey,” Brock says after an appropriate pause. “I swear, if you’re gonna ask me—“

“I’m not,” Petey says.

“You sure? You’re looking at me funny.”

“I’m always funny. And I look at you plenty,” Petey says.

“You’re looking at me like a bug, bud,” Brock says. “Like, to study. You saying you don’t even want to ask if I liked it a little?”

“A—Oh, honestly. Fine, did you?”

“Yeah, yeah. I like everything you do,” Brock says.

“Oh,” Petey says. He twists his fingers through Brock’s fringe, and then remembers himself and lets go. “Good.”

Brock stretches carefully, just beginning to settle back into his body and becoming aware of all the ways they’re tangled together. “Yeah, so,” he says, searching for something. “So, did you?”

Petey looks at him a long time, then reaches out one more time with a careful finger to stroke Brock’s fringe back into place across his forehead. “Yeah,” he says. “Can’t say that’s not true. I like you.”


End file.
